All the King's Horses
Chapter Two: Fools Rush In
Six months laterNightclubs smell like cheap sex: musty, tangy and doused in the stench of alcohol. Clarice Starling came to a similar conclusion as she sat in a corner booth waiting for her roommate to return with their raspberry vodkas. Playerz was the closest thing to a Saturday night drinking blitz on their side of town. From experience, she knew it was best to stay within certain parameters when signing up for a nightly membership with the blackout brigade; a drunk will pay anything to get home.
The club was moderately full for a Friday night, mostly populated by college students and teenagers well under the legal drinking age. At twenty-six, Clarice felt as though she was too old for the raging scene. On the dance floor young girls in short skirt and white tops glowed under the ultra-violet lights, their young bodies daring the males to keep up with them. Even though she'd never really been a partier, Clarice knew that she'd rather be at a restaurant, or better yet, at home. She sighed at the thought of her hackneyed, old lady attitude; the most excitement she felt these days was busting narcotics pushers, or maybe when she stood in as an expert witness on a trial.
"You're only as old as you feel, Starling" Ardelia Mapp slid across the booth on the other side of the polished wood table, placing four drinks in front of them- two each.
Clarice snorted and reached for the palest glass "Is it that obvious?"
"Oh yeah!" Ardelia grinned and tapped her feet to the thumping base.
"Well in that case, I feel as though I'm here because my husband of twenty years left me for our next-door neighbor's teenage daughter." She scoffed, downing half of her glass in one mouthful. "Honestly Delia, don't you think we're a little beyond this?" She gestured over to a group of young men sitting a few tables across from them whistling and guzzling beer.
"We only graduated three years ago. You may be over it Miss FBI, but I'm sure as hell not." She winked at the table of young men, ignoring the disparaging comments from Clarice.
On the social scene, Clarice had forever been tagged a killjoy. At the orphanage she had slept exactly at lights out, at college she studied two weeks before exams, and as professional, she'd work on the weekends if something came up. That's not to say she couldn't drink any man under the table, years of sipping out of Jack Daniels bottles had given her a steel gut. But she didn't drink for fun, she drank to get drunk and forget about the black and white standards she'd set for herself. If she was sober, she was usually bored.
"Great! Now look what you've attracted." Clarice groaned as two men started over toward their booth, victorious hunt splashed all over their drunken faces.
"Good evenin' ladies." The taller of the two slurred.
"Hi there." Ardelia smiled her 'come hither' smile and scooted over for them to sit next to her.
"Why are two gorgeous women sitting all alone in a club full of hungry bachelors?" The other stammered, his eyes wandering over Clarice's blouse.
"Trying to stay off the menu." Clarice was seething, she didn't want to start the week of with an assault charge, but knew in all likelihood that if these thug didn't move on, she may be forced to run a violent rampage.
"Speak for yaself girl" Ardelia squealed as she was pulled to her feet by the thick, Arian-featured man. They headed off to the dance floor, leaving Clarice alone with Mr. Gape and Drool.
"Looks like it's just you and me babe." He took Ardelia's seat opposing Clarice's and winked. "My names Jett." He leant in closer across the table. "And you would be?"
For a brief moment Clarice hit a blank. A name. You need a name Starling. Then she smirked.
"Lee." She chucked into her glass as she took a final swig and moved the other full glass closer to her side of the table.
"Jett and Lee. Ain't that a funny coincidence" His slimy teeth appeared underneath a crooked smile.
"Isn't it just?" She smiled tightly, trying to remember if she could fit through the window in the rest rooms.
Damn Ardelia! You'll pay for this.
"So Lee, what does a pretty girl like you like to do in her spare time?" He reached for Ardelia's stilled drink and stretched his legs underneath the table attempting to rub himself against her.
Turn the bastard right off!
" I'm an elementary school teacher. I love children. I hope to have many of my own one day." She replied through gritted teeth; an unpleasant image of herself floating about in a sundress surrounded by snotty, scabby second graders appeared in her head. Jeeeesus!
"Kids…right." Jett ran a tanned hand through his spiky black hair; her plan seemed to be working, he looked like he was about to flee.
Or maybe not…
"How bout I get you another drink there Lee? Maybe you can educate me about a few things when I get back, eh?" He stood quickly, hitting his knees under the table. Clarice smirked.
Oh yes. I'll fucking educate you, asswipe!
"Whatever." She replied neutrally. He was a perverted drunk; she didn't need him to be an aggressive one.
I could run for it now, she thought. But he'd probably catch her as she walked past the bar. Who the hell designed this club anyway? Certainly not a female! She squirmed against the slippery leather. Maybe he'd see something more appealing on the way over. Clarice sighed imagined all the places she'd rather be: On the beach, horseback riding, at work, talking with Dr. Lecter…
Uh oh! Not good. Back up!
She took another sip, soon enough the vodka would numb her thoughts and she wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of thinking about things, about…him.
It had been three years since his escape in Memphis; roughly thirty-six months since he had sent her the letter, which she hadn't turned-in to forensics. It ate away at her for weeks, but she couldn't bring herself to show them; they'd taunt her with it, they'd bait her with his words and hold it against her for her entire career. Paul Krendler would make sure of that. He'd hated her ever since she beat him to Jame Gumb, a woman taking the credit for a man's job. He despised her. Unfortunately, they crossed paths frequently, he worked over at Justice now, and every time he'd see her he'd tell her with a look of hate in his eyes " I'd fuck your country ass any day, Starling." She'd rather eat her own brain!
Reminded by the perverted egotism of the male populace, Clarice looked over to the bar to find her friend, Jett. The beefy dark haired man was whispering into another woman's ear; she seemed as displeased as Clarice had been. It's marvelous how the felony juice can make you feel attractive. Jett though, well he didn't have much to work with.
"How bout a scotch babe?" Instead of sitting across from her, he slid in beside Clarice and handed her a glass of scotch, the pill she hadn't seen him slip in was still dissolving.
Ok let's finish this, Starling
Clarice moved in closer to Jett's warm chest and swung her legs over toward him, causing her skirt to ride up to mid-thigh. She felt him stiffen in his seat as he ran his finger over her collarbone, around her necklace and down her chest, tracing the V of her blouse…
"So…you were going to educate me?" He questioned, groaning as he caught a glimpse of some cleavage.
"There are too many people around for me to…demonstrate my knowledge." She nodded over to the swelling dace floor behind him.
In the brief moment he took to look over his shoulder, Clarice switched the drinks, shifting the drugged glass next to his thick knuckles.
"We should go back to my place." He returned her grin and looked back at her.
"Not before we finished our drinks." She shouted almost a little too eagerly and picked up her scotch, downing it without as much as a flinch.
"Right." He winked, doing the same to prove himself worthy.
She watched a moment and imagined his pupils staring to dilate. She couldn't help but smile as she saw the muscles in his cheeks fall lazy. "How about we start with a little pop quiz, Jett. Can you tell me how many years you'll spend paranoid about dropping the soap in the prison showers for drugging an FBI agent?" She raised her chin in victory.
Jett started blinking frantically and shaking his head. Confused at first, and then dizzy, he managed to stutter his reply. "Bitch!"
"You better believe it." She stood, shifted her skirt back down over her knees and stepped over Jett's body as it began sinking under the table. Peeved by Ardelia's hasty disappearance, she didn't bother with a farewell. Clarice made a quick dash for the exit, hailed a cab, and headed for home.
*~*~*
Jack Crawford had never been fond of change. His office at Behavioral Science, Quantico looked the same as it had ten years ago, painted beige walls cluttered with posters, APB's and photographs. The linoleum floor where he sat in front of a filing cab - pain, people respected him and looked up to him, he'd even heard that a few of the trainees had a crush on him. How amusing, he thought. Out of his breast pocket he pulled a small bottle of pills, since Bella had passed, time had not been a generous or comforting friend. Some days, the only thing that kept him going was knowing that he would sleep that night.
"Mr. Crawford, sir?" His secretary stood at the door, her black-framed bifocals made her look like a Stephen King creation.
"Yes, Elaine." Crawford took his time standing, clutching for the side of his desk and wincing as his knees clicked back into their joints.
"You had a fax come through from the Seattle filed office. Ian Bexter sent it through your private line." The fuzzy haired women dropped the paper on his desk and retreated out of the room. Everyone knew Jack Crawford liked his privacy.
"Thank you." He managed before the door shut.
He sat down at his desk, sliding the folders and empty coffee cups out of his vision and read the short fax from Ian Bexter, a name he hadn't spoken for a considerable amount of time.
Jack,
Sorry to rekindle our links on a work-related topic, it's been quite a while. We've been following a case close to you and require some help. I'm sending a rookie to DC on an early flight tomorrow. Dallas Cartwright will meet you for lunch at a time and place that suits you. He has your beeper number.
This is important, Jack. It's to do with an agent of yours, Clarice Starling.
I trust you'll make the time.
Sincerely.
Your old friend,
SAC Ian Bexter.
Crawford shut his eyes and deeply inhaled. Clarice Starling. Without a doubt the case close to him would be Dr. Hannibal Lecter. The name followed him around like a shadow. If he could ethically permit himself, he'd forget about Lecter and how he played with and changed Clarice. Crawford saw the same light in her eyes as he had seen in Lecter's. He couldn't shake off the thought that in some abstract form, Clarice Starling belonged the cannibal, and it was his entire fault. Things could have been different. She could have had a desk across from him in their office. He remembered the day he called her in about Buffalo Bill, she was so young and ambitious…and beautiful, but it was her courage that stuck him. She was the energy that he needed, but now, he hardly ever sees her. She got shafted down the ranks, and he felt responsible. Perhaps now he had a chance to redeem himself, or at least see her again.
He crumpled the fax in his fist and opened his diary. He was free tomorrow at 1pm.
~ tbc- thank you for your reviews~
H&I